


About a boy

by finlyfoe



Series: The Julia Files [1]
Category: Homeland
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Background Relationships, Break Up, F/M, First Love, Gen, Recruitment, Social Issues, Speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 16:25:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8020828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finlyfoe/pseuds/finlyfoe
Summary: The Julia Files are a collection of my ideas about Peter Quinn's back-story - from teenage-years on. W/in official lines.Part One, "About a boy": Teenage PQ aka John meets Julia - and Dar Adal





	About a boy

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to koalathebear for beta-reading  
> to snqa for Baltimore-input  
> and to frangi whose Hong Kong stories inspired this more juvenile delinquent teenage Quinn

Carrie rips open the FedEx-envelope.  
Max has exceeded himself: Against the odds, he’s managed to find the safety deposit box. Without any details of an address, without any hint whatsoever as to location. He only had a key and yet came up with Peter Quinn’s secret treasures, hidden away in a little cardboard-box. Might be a fallback plan, a hidden agenda, a handful of lost memories - Carrie takes a breath...

It's her attempt to make up for precious time that has been lost, to catch up on things that she missed out on before. She wants to find out something - anything about the man who loved her and never let on how he felt about her. Quinn, fighting for his life in a hospital.

The first thing she lays eyes on is a photograph. A boyish Quinn, not yet fully grown, standing amidst a crowd of people, leaning against a black brick wall, limbs long and ungainly. His features are soft, not yet visibly marked by life. His forehead is perfectly smooth, the cheek-bones less pointed, the eyes less watchful.  He is 15, maybe 16 years old. His arm is around a girl who is leaning in against him. A pretty little thing, dark hair, dark eyes, lots of kohl, torn clothes. A punk princess, still undecided about whether to smile or to sulk.

*****

 “John, no more joyriding,” the new social worker had told him, her eyes resting on him unwaveringly, sympathetic and concerned. “You have to stop this.  I guarantee that you won’t like a juvenile delinquents’ institution. You do know that’s where you're going to end up if there is a next time?”

Why were socialworkers always pestering him like this? Always bombarding him with questions like “Why did you steal the Pontiac?” - “I didn’t steal it. I borrowed it. Would have brought it back…”- “Why did you borrow it then?” “Just.”-  “Just is not an answer. Why did you take it?” - “Because it was there.”

He is good at it, at answering without answering. But it gets tiresome, for both sides. The same questions. The same evasive answers. The same faces and expressions. So empathetic, so disapproving, so caring. Hypocrites. He knows that they don’t give a shit.

She was different, or at least that’s what he had thought. A petite woman, pushy, edgy, emotional. Sighing, smiling, rolling her eyes in ostensible concern.

The first day she came along was on his 16th birthday. She had come bearing brownies and put them in front of him. “Happy birthday. Enjoy.”

He had wolfed down the brownies. He was hungry, he always was. Not cos they didn't feed him properly - it was his  age. He’d grow soon enough. For now though, he was a slightly scrawny weasel of a youth, slender, all huge blue eyes and a quiet demeanor, but "wild" according to his file. Uncontrollable. All good one day - off nicking cars the next. Luxury cars.  An annoying pastime. The foster home’s legal department and insurers were constantly upset because he cost them a fortune.

  
The new social worker had scrutinized him, checked out his T-shirt. Iggy Pop. She didn’t know it was not his. A guy had left it behind when he moved out. A guy he'd got along with, so he'd taken it. As a souvenir.  

  
“You like Iggy Pop?” she had remarked. “He’ll play at Hammerjacks in March. If you're good till then, I’ll get you a ticket. A belated birthday-present. How does that sound to you?”

He had grinned, a surprisingly charming and boyish grin – slightly wicked. “You trying to bribe me, ma'am? OK then…”

 

And he'd been good. He really had been. Not because of her little _inducement_. It had been because he had liked her. Pathetic - a crush on your social worker. He shouldn’t have trusted her. She had vanished from his life of course. They always did. Better jobs, or their partners wanted to move to N.Y.C., or they were burnt out or had their own alcohol issue/drug problem. With her, he hadn't seen it coming. She'd been all fun one day and gone the next. Not a word, no explanation, no nothing. What did he care. He didn't.  Fuck her.

On a whim, he decides to go to the concert after all. He feels entitled to the reward. He doesn't have permission to be out that late but he doesn’t care. He scrapes together his money. He was up on a lot of community service last year, at a retirement home where some of the old folks gave him a buck or two – saying that a kid needed some money for ice-cream or for the movies. They'd been alright, those old folks. A pity they wouldn't be around very much longer…

It’s March 1994. The golden days of Hammerjacks, that’s what they say in Baltimore. A two-storey dance club in an old beer warehouse on South Howard Street/ Interstate 396 that houses 2500 people. Half a dozen bars on the ground floor - that’s the club site. The concert area dimly lit, flanked by a balcony level.  Black walls, exposed bricks and dirty restrooms. It's a joint for hard and heavy gigs, for glam rock, for the alternative-minded along with their corresponding display of leather, wild hair and extreme make-up. All very tempting for a 16-year-old even if he clearly isn't part of the rocker and biker clientele.

John has a neat strategy for getting in without drawing too much attention: Look out for a couple old enough to be your parents, then try to stay close and pretend to belong. If you don’t choose two morons threatening to beat up the doorman, then you’re in. So John watches the entrance and remains invisible. He’s good at it - it’s an excellent way to get along in a foster home - if you don’t get noticed, you don’t get bullied.

He's lucky. Not even 20 minutes, and an ideal couple shows up, the woman sporting a blonde perm so he won’t lose track of her. John lets them pass, counts to 10, then follows. The couple reaches  the entrance. He half-heartedly shouts “Mom, Dad…”, loud enough to be convincing, but too softly to attract the attention of the couple.  He tries to push through the queue half-heartedly. When he’s made it to the entrance, he waves, points to the couple, “my parents, they never wait….”, the bored doorman checks his ticket and asks no awkward questions. He is about the enter when someone shouts “hey bro, wait for me…”, and a small dark haired punk-princess crashes against him. The doorman demands “Aren’t you a little young?” “He’s to blame”, she says and points at John, “He wanted to go so Mum & Dad got tickets for the four of us, it’s so unfair, they never get tickets if I wanna go see the Sex Pistols”. John looks at her, slightly gobsmacked, then grins. This girl got a nerve! She pushes him softly to make him move on.

  
“Jeez this place is packed!” She looks around, all impressed. “By the way – I'm Julia.  You don’t mind I nicked your idea, do you?”

 

John gets them drinks. Two cokes, that is the official version, but he also pinches a beer from the counter, National Bohemian, its owner too busy to notice picking a fight with a bearded guy.  
John downs a third of the beer on the spot, the rest goes into the cokes.

 “What is that?” Julia asks him, taking a sip.

“Beer with coke.”

“Yuck!” But she drinks it anyway.

She raises her voice so he can hear her. She’s from Philly, she says, over here with her dad doing business. Attending a conference. He’s a policeman, they all are, a family tradition.

“Family tradition - so you’re gonna be a police officer as well?”

“Naw, no way. It sucks… all this law & order stuff… Can’t even ride a bike on the wrong side on a one-way-street without being lectured.”

John chuckles. She must be a good girl living in a nice neighbourhood, when bikeriding draws that much attention…

“What about you, Johnny? You’re from Baltimore? Hammerjacks - you hang out here a lot?”

He could lie. It would be pretty easy. He’s good at making stuff up, does it all the time for the social workers.

  
Or he could be bluntly honest. Tell her he lives at a foster home, for the time being. It’s always been for the time being. His mum and her relapses. She’s done with that for good now.- He swallows hard and decides not to tell.  He doesn’t want to her to look at him all empathetic and he’d have to declare his mum sure loved him, it`s just… some things…. _substances_ … she loved more. That it was an illness she couldn’t help.

“Yeah, true blue Baltimore. Haven’t been at Hammerjacks that often. I mean: look around - these folks are _stone-age_.”

She smiles. The beer makes him mildly dizzy. Or maybe it’s Julia standing so close.

“So, Johnny, what else? Any weird hobbies? Ballroom dancing, water ballet?”

He’s good at hot-wiring cars.

“Naaah, I'm totally boring. Do you? I’d come along with a banner.”

“I'm totally boring too… ´Lust for Life` or `Instinct´?”

“What?”

“The albums. Which do you prefer?”

Here you go. Never mix with real fans if you haven’t got a clue.

“Dunno. You?”

“`Lust for life´ of course. Last great movie?”

“Kalifornia.”

“Really?” She gives him a once-over. “Do your parents know?”

“Ah - they don’t care.” Which is true if somewhat - strangely phrased.

“Mine would go nuts. My brothers spy on me, can you believe it. So much for sibling solidarity.”

“Like: `Hey mum, she was seen with this guy from Baltimore and he drinks beer and watches adult movies´?”

She has a giggling fit and hardly manages to nod.

“Hey Jules”, he says and she gets even closer to hear what he’s saying, “they're right. I am one of the bad guys…. Your dad would lock me up on the spot…”

“He sure would”, she says and leans in to kiss him.

Which comes as a surprise.

A nice surprise. Good thing he’s not that much into Iggy Pop anyway - they don’t get to see much of that concert. With Julia kissing him, he knows for the first time why he’s here: It`s destiny. He is meant to meet Julia.  
And deal with the consequences.

Whether they make out two or twenty minutes, he can't tell. They're in another universe where time doesn't apply. On the occasions they pull apart and open their eyes, he can see her smile and he can’t help smiling back. She smells and tastes like vanilla. She takes the lead and plays no games. Starts the kiss. Slides her tongue in. Her hands wander under his shirt to feel his skin. He holds his breath and longs for a room of his own, a room far away from the crowd or the home or her family, a room just for the two of them. He is 16 years old and about to explode with a new and all consuming feeling.

She sighs, a low soft smile that shoots him through the heart - and straight into his groin as well. He wraps her in his arms and whispers her name.  Life is perfect for now.

 

It takes only 50 minutes for the bliss to be taken away from him. To see her really, truly, madly broken when she comes back from the restrooms. She doesn’t have to tell, it’s all in her face.

He is insecure what to do with his hands. Doesn’t dare to touch her, to comfort her.

“Julia, what happened?”

“My dad will kill me. They’ll send me off to some fucking boarding school. They’ll lock me up…” She looks up.  “Jeeez, you must think I'm some kind of a loony …” She tries a smile but the tears win.

He shakes his head. Angry fathers are not to be taken lightly, another lesson from the foster home. “What happened?”

She takes a breath. “There was this guy… from the paper… taking pictures… went “he, oi” so I turned around… and he started clicking away without even asking … I told him - told him to stop. Told him I didn’t want that. Just needed a minute or two to react … I tried to grab the camera and he called me a ´crazy bitch´ and vanished.”

“Fucker.”

“I'm supposed to be at my aunt’s. I'm, not allowed to be here.”

“Look”, he says, finding the courage to at least touch her arm, “chances are, they’ll publish other pictures. Not you. I mean, you are gorgeous but still…”

She tries to smile. Nods. Shakes her head. “You don’t know my family. I nearly flunked my exams… They warned me… They’ll go beserk.”

Poor little punk princess.

“Jules - I totally get that. I do. I’d be in a lot of trouble if - somebody knew I am here.” _I will be in a lot of trouble cos I missed the curfew…_  

She looks at him, eyes still desperate.

“Johnny - we have to find the guy. Talk to him. Please.”

“OK. OK.”

 

If he hadn’t been so amped up on hormones, he might have reconsidered. Chances are, the guy took hundreds of pictures so what is the probability she’ll end up in the Baltimore Sun’s review of a concert.

His plan is to go find the guy, grab his camera and open it so that the film is exposed to light and the pictures destroyed. Can’t be too difficult, he’s seen it done many times in the movies. Might take two or three minutes - easy. Then he’ll drop the camera and run, dragging Jules along. He doesn't tell her his plan, though - he doesn’t need the argument.  
They don’t find the guy. Which makes the operation considerably more difficult.

 

They leave Hammerjacks before the first encore. It’s way before the age of Google so it takes them some time to find out where the offices of the Baltimore Sun are. They're smart enough to pick up a paper and look up the address. They don’t know about deadlines though – that the guy they're looking for won't be around before tomorrow noon.

In passing, John tries every parked car, looking for one that's unlocked.  
“What are you doing?”

“We need a car.”

“You wanna steal a car? Are you out of your mind?!”

“How else do we get there? - And we're not stealing it, we're borrowing it. We’ll bring it back.”

“Don’t”, she says but gets in anyway. A red beetle. Easy to hot-wire. Julia watches John fumbling with the wires, eyes large, disbelieving, betraying shock and admiration.

“I told you your dad would lock me up.” He feels smug because she’s clearly impressed.

 

There are lights on one of the upper floors. The entrance is closed but not too far from the fire escape, one of the first floor windows is ajar.

“Forget it”, Julia says.

“I could try. It’s easy.”

“It’s burglary.”

“Says your dad?”

“Fuck you!” She shuts the car door with a bang and starts to walk away.

“Hey Jules… !  Julia… wait.” He blocks her way but is smart enough not to touch her. “I’ll be all polite. I promise. I’ll tell him. Explain the situation.” His guts clench so he knows it’s a bad idea but he wants to impress her so desperately. Fix her mess.

“Don’t”, she says. But she stops and leans against the wall. As if to wait here until he returns.

So he heads for the open window. They have him on the four CC-TV-cameras before he even touches the window-pane.

 

****

“There was no girl. Dunno what you’re talking ‘bout.“ John gives his lawyer a sulky teenage stare.

His lawyer frowns.  Pro bono work sucks. Just look at this kid, 16, his file two inches thick. Joy-riding. Joy-riding. And more joy-riding. Probably other offences too, just lucky he's never been caught for those.  Foster home on and off from the age of 8, mother an addict, overdosed last year, father unknown. Last regular schooling at 14. Smart yet completely unreachable by those who would help him.  
This time it is worse than joyriding. Burglary, violence.

She gives him a once-over. White trash doesn't get whiter than this.  Long limbs, huge feet, he looks as if he's just started to grow but hasn’t quite filled out yet. Dark tousled hair, blue eyes. One of those deep-down-I-am-sensitive-but-don’t-you-cross-me-guys who's destined to break the hearts of silly middle-class girls, if you let them.

She sighs. “Look John, we know there was a girl. Eye-witness saw a girl, victim saw a girl. Don’t be a martyr and take the blame onto yourself. Be smart for a change. Did you do it to impress her?”

He stretches out his long legs under the table and leans back in the chair. “Still dunno what you’re talkin' about.”

“I am not going to waste my time on you. I’ll head for a coffee and give you, say, ten minutes to rethink your strategy. You’re in deep shit, John. Broken nose, broken jawbone, the night watchman in hospital with 12 stitches. Does that register?”

“I didn’t touch him. He slipped, he fell, it was an accident…”

“Plead guilty, ask for mercy and tell us about the mysterious girl.”

Ah her I-am-a-tough-upperclass-lawyer-and-do-this-only-cos-my-boss-insists-attitude, her business suit and her stilettos ... _Rich bitch_. She clearly takes him for a useless, beyond help thug. He can read it on her face. No use talking to her, just a waste of time and false hope. He folds his arms and stares at her, unblinking.

She closes the door with a shrug and goes to an adjacent room where a balding man with a well-trimmed beard, piercing dark eyes and a slightly sinister face waits, watching the kid through the one-way screen.

“So, Mr. Adal”, she goes and greets him with a hand-shake, “what do you think?”

Dar Adal takes his time. No need to look too eager.

“He could be suitable”, he goes, “I’ll decide after a heart-to-heart…”  
She sighs. “Sometimes I wonder the stuff our heroes are made of.”

Adal gives her an ironic smile.  “We don’t talk about heroes, Ms. Glinka, we talk about serving our country, and for now we're only discussing a small favor from an unruly but smart kid. You should learn to look beyond your Ivy League-blinkers…”

It gives him some satisfaction to condescend a spoilt and pampered girl who's never had to face any of the blows that young John here has had to come to terms with. The kid will be much more suitable material in the long run, driven by the desire to prove himself worthy. Something she takes for granted.

****

John is hardly looking up, when a strange man with piercing eyes enters, putting down a donut-box and a coke in front of him. So he is not a shrink - shrinks never think of normal things like hunger or thirst, they only think of sex, insults and the subconscious. Maybe another social worker? - But that man doesn’t exude any of their false warmth, their almost mechanical caring attitude, and his attire is much too formal.

“Hello John, I thought you might like a bite to eat. I’m Dar Adal.”

John looks up, a hungry kid’s glance, if he ever saw one, but he doesn’t move. Adal shoves the coke into John’s reach. He doesn’t take it.

“I appreciate your discretion”, the man says. “Your determination. You promised you wouldn’t give her away, so you didn't. Loyalty is very valuable trait.”

Concern flickers in John’s eyes. A grown-up singing his praise means the worst is yet to come.

The man hands him an envelope. Pictures, CC-TV-enlargements. John on the fire escape. Down on the street: the beetle. A few feet away: Julia. The picture is blurred. No way they’ll be able to identify her. That’s a comfort.

John looks up, eyes bland and unconcerned.

The man comes up with two more pictures. John and Julia at Hammerjacks. He has his arm around her shoulders, she leans in on him, half-sulking.

“The police hasn’t seen those”, the man goes, “they are from my own intelligence-gatherers. I know that you don’t want to betray her. I like that. Things got ugly, you lost it.”

“You her father?” John asks with a small voice.

“I am someone who needs a guy like you for a small favor. Nothing very different from what you already did. I want you to access a certain person. You'll have to break some - rules but you don’t have to steal anything and I don’t want you to beat anyone up. How does that sound?”

“Lame. Why should I?”

“Because it is a win/win situation.  You run this … errand, and the charges will be dropped. You refuse and this matter here goes to court.  Chances are, you’ll be facing a future with a criminal record.”

“So I have no choice is what you're telling me.”

“We always have a choice.”

The boy takes a donut and starts nibbling off the chocolate topping, deep in thought. He looks up and stares at the balding man with his unblinking watchful gaze. The man stares back, a tiny smile twisting the corner of his mouth. Yeah, that’s his boy…

**Author's Note:**

> comments appreciated!


End file.
